Poetry,
Born from emotion,
From sorrow and pain,
From longing,
From frustration.
It comes to light,
And is refined.
The words in it,
Pass, flee,
From letter to page,
From mouth to ear,
Quietly caressing,
Relaxing soul,
Healing pain,
And ushering blessing.

In the valley’s skies an eagle flies,
Scanning its land,
Here it grew, spread its wings,
Here it built its house,

Another scan, a tiny tail wave,
It turns and flies away,
The fruit of its hands, the labor of its life,
Lays down its story.

A young man bearing arms,
Defender of his land,
A young man takes a wife,
Starts his family here.

The kibbutz is rushing forward, developing,
A man is carrying its tools,
Kitchen, stainless steel, kibbutz secretary,
A neighborhood at its outskirts.

A man walks, the valley ground,
Knows his feet,
A thousand paths he marked in it,
From winter to autumn.

A grown man, his path’s work
Never rested for a moment,
If his feet grew heavy suddenly,
His hands were not weakened.

A gray man, tended to rest,
His life course is completed,
The valley ground he loved so dearly,
Hugging for eternity.